QuireCleveland, 2008–18
Haec dicit Dominus, by William Byrd (1591)
updated
Composed in 1959, this beautiful double-choir work sets a prayer by John Donne, early 17th-century poet and Dean of St. Paul's Cathedral in London.
Bring us, O Lord God, at our last awakening, into the house and gate of heaven, to enter into that gate and dwell in that house, where there shall be no darkness nor dazzling, but one equal light; no noise nor silence, but one equal music; no fears nor hopes, but one equal possession; no ends nor beginnings, but one equal eternity; in the habitations of thy glory and dominion, world without end. Amen.
O virgo splendens is described as a “caça” in its unique source, the fourteenth-century Spanish manuscript known as the Llibre Vermell (the Red Book). The word “caça” means “hunt” or “chase,” and we find the same word used in fourteenth-century France (“chace”) and Italy (“caccia”) to describe canonic pieces. One voice part begins and is followed in turn by two others, as if the following voices were hunting the first along the same trail. The melody of O virgo splendens is chant-like in that it is not metrical, but each phrase is exactly the same length, so the three voices come together every few seconds before proceeding to the next phrase.
Munda Maria, a three-voice round, is strongly rhythmic – in fact, quite virtuosic in its syncopated opening, especially considering that composers were just figuring out how to notate rhythm. It is a strophic round, meaning each statement of the melody has a new verse of the text, and we sing all five of them. The solo singers at the beginning are Malina Rauschenfels and Brian MacGilvray.
Sumer is icumen in is perhaps the most famous song from the Middle Ages. Its unique manuscript source describes the piece as a “rota,” which is Latin for “wheel,” and that imagery suits the concept of a round very well. Four voices follow each other on the same music, but a further wrinkle is that, beneath the voices of the round are two other voice parts, making their own short canon with each other. The manuscript refers to those as the “Pes” – literally the “foot,” and therefore serving the same sort of function as the repeating “ground bass” of later centuries. Sumer is icumen in has a sacred text as well, Perspice Christicola, written underneath the familiar English one. We sing both Latin and English lyrics here, and follow the reconstruction of the original melody from Ross Duffin’s 1988 article in the journal “Speculum.”
Johannes Ciconia is generally regarded as the first composer of Franco-Flemish origin to make his way to Italy in the late Middle Ages. He paved the way for a host of other Northern singers and composers attracted to the brilliant courts of Italy during the course of the Renaissance, including DuFay, Josquin, Willaert, Rore, and Lassus, to name but a few. Ciconia’s Le ray au soleyl is a mensuration canon, meaning a canon that depends on the fact that notes had different durations in different meters, just as in modern notation a whole rest can have different values depending on the meter. The first voice you will hear is joined by another, one octave lower and moving at one-third of the speed, then by a third voice moving in the same range as the first, but with four notes for every three of the first. It is a fascinating piece and a remarkable conception that was brought to its zenith by Ockeghem, with his Missa Prolationum.
The Agnus dei movement from Johannes Ockeghem’s Missa Prolationum is the most complex canon imaginable, since the soprano and alto are in canon with each other at different pitch levels and different speeds. At the same time, the tenor and bass are also in canon, again at different pitch levels, and in meters that are not only different from each other, but different from those of the upper voices as well! The truly amazing thing about Ockeghem’s achievement in this Agnus and, in fact, throughout this mass, is that the listener is hardly aware of the canon – never distracted by the technical achievement of what must rank with Bach’s Musical Offering and Art of Fugue as the most extraordinary canonic masterpieces ever composed.
Antoine Févin’s Quae est ista uses a melody, introduced first in the top part, followed after a short interval by itself in the alto, then tenor, and then bass voice, each entry being a fifth lower than the last. Because of the close time interval and the starting pitches a fifth apart, this creates an unusual modal ambiguity as each of the four parts tries to make the melody fit into its scale while harmonizing with the other voices.
Ave virgo sanctissima exists in various sources with conflicting attributions, but it seems most likely to have been by Philippe Verdelot. In this case, three voice parts begin simultaneously, but each is followed by canonic part singing a fourth higher. The separation at first is just one measure, but after a cadence and a pause, the canon starts again at a distance four measures. This seems simply to alternate a trio with its answer four measures later, but eventually the leading voices continue instead of resting and join together with their following counterparts. Thus, from three notated voices, a texture of six is created. Remarkably, the fact that it is entirely canonic is not the predominant impression for listeners.
Thomas Ravenscroft was a boy actor at St Paul’s Cathedral who grew up to be a composer, arranger, music theorist, and publisher. As the first person to publish a version of “Three blind mice,” he is especially important to people today who like to sing rounds. There is nothing fancy about the canonic technique here, however. The “Browning” tune is also known as “The leaves be green.” The soloists at the beginning are John McElliott and Brian MacGilvray.
Thomas Ravenscroft was a boy actor at St Paul’s Cathedral who grew up to be a composer, arranger, music theorist, and publisher. As the first person to publish a version of “Three blind mice,” he is especially important to people today who like to sing rounds. There is nothing fancy about the canonic technique in this round, however, although we divide the parts to suit high and low voices answering one another.
Thomas Ravenscroft was a boy actor at St Paul’s Cathedral who grew up to be a composer, arranger, music theorist, and publisher. As the first person to publish a version of “Three blind mice,” he is especially important to people today who like to sing rounds. There is nothing fancy about the canonic technique here, however, although this round is for no fewer than ten separate voice parts!
Quire has sung Byrd since our début concert in 2008, and he is the sole composer on our 2016 recording, England’s Phœnix, so he holds a special place in our hearts. Quomodo cantabimus was composed in answer to a canonic piece by Philippe de Monte. Its two alto voices are both derived from one of the bass parts, except an octave higher, and one of them in inversion: where the bass part ascends, the inverted part descends. At the same time, five other voice parts swirl around in independent counterpoint, creating a lush musical texture and virtually obliterating any chance a listener might have of hearing the embedded canon!
Robert Ramsey is a composer who worked at Trinity College, Cambridge. His beautiful and chromatic “With humble voice” occurs uniquely in a manuscript fragment preserved in the Special Collections Library at Case Western Reserve University. The four bass singers are Brian MacGilvray, Michael McKay, Ian Crane, and Nathan Longnecker.
“Orlando was his name,” was composed by Orlando Gibbons to commemorate the return of Prince Charles from Spain in November, 1623. Gibbons was organist and singer in the Chapel Royal, as well as a musican in the prince’s household, so he had the kind of personal access implied by the lyrics. The lyrics also contain unique confirmation that, although rounds may be notated variously in high or low clefs, they were often intended to be sung by high and low voices together, something that Quire therefore does for most performances of such works.
“She weepeth sore” is based on texts from the Lamentations of Jeremiah, but it is thought that Lawes may have been inspired by the citation of this particular passage during an outbreak of the plague in London in 1626. Highly chromatic like Ramsey’s “With humble voice” (also in this playlist), “She weepeth sore” was published by composer Henry Lawes during the English Civil War, after his brother William’s death in that conflict. The solo singers at the beginning at Malina Rauschenfels and Nathan Longnecker.
The three-voice canon Non nobis Domine was attributed in the eighteenth century to William Byrd, but the musicologist Philip Brett showed that to be erroneous. The music occurs without text in a manuscript once owned by the composer John Bull, but the music and words together are not found until John Hilton’s 1652 collection of rounds and canons, Catch that catch can.
This perpetual canon for four voices by J. S. Bach is found in a manuscript in Bach’s own handwriting, signed at Weimar on August 2, 1713. The bass begins, followed in turn by the successively higher voices, each a fifth above the previous one. The piece achieved fame in modern times as a favorite of the Swingle Singers, whom we emulate for the beginning of our arrangement. After that, I have added a new lyric in the spirit of the piece. The basses sing the melody once through each time, both without and with text, before the canon begins.
“The Singing Club” by Thomas Augustine Arne is an extended round that humorously tells the story of a singing lesson. We hear scales, complaints about the quality of the singing, tentative testing of vowel quality, euphoric appreciation (perhaps feigned), and finally, asides about the singer’s lack of ability.
Next is a canonic piece by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart: a four-voice Alleluia for high voices, signed by Mozart in Vienna on September 2, 1788. The solo singers at the beginning are Angela Mitchell and Bryan Munch.
This lovely Benedictus by Johannes Brahms, a canon for high voices (SSAT), is known from a copy in Brahms’ own handwriting, and he used it as the basis for another choral work, Warum ist das Licht gegeben? but no one realized that it was part of a complete canonic mass by the composer until 1978, when the mass turned up in Cape Cod, MA, not copied by Brahms but certainly composed by him. The Benedictus is the movement that Brahms wrote out separately and preserved for himself, however, so it seems to have had special meaning for him.
Canonic techniques fell out of favor among composers in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, but there is a stunning example from opera: the charming Mir ist so wunderbar from Ludwig van Beethoven’s 1805 opera, Fidelio. It occurs as a quartet at the end of Act I, where Marzelline, Leonore, Rocco, and Jaquino each, in turn, take up the same melody, though with lyrics showing their respective reaction to the confusing love quandary. Jaquino loves Marzelline, Rocco’s daughter, but Marzelline has fallen for Leonore who is disguised as a man (Fidelio). Quire sings the canon with soprano, alto, bass, and tenor, representing Marzelline, Leonore, Rocco, and Jaquino.
“O be joyful in the Lord,” also known as the Jubilate Deo, is a psalm that, along with the Te Deum, was sung daily at Morning Prayer. Purcell composed a much grander setting of this text, with instruments; the one we are singing is on a smaller scale, with two verses for groups of soloists, but otherwise full. It is an optimistic work somehow, in spite of the highly chromatic imitative motive at the text, “It is he that hath made us.” There is also a canon at the 4-voice verse, with the soprano following the tenor in inversion up a 5th, and the alto a 12th above the bass, also in inversion. It is a lovely moment, in spite of its complicated compositional technique. The piece concludes with a resounding Gloria Patri: Glory be to the Father.
“I will sing unto the Lord” is a verse anthem in which blocks of choral sound alternate with gentler soli sections amid varying meters. The “Cantate Domino” text is well known as the beginning of Psalms 96, 98 and 149, but here Purcell finds a related and essential psalmodic lyric at the end of Psalm 104.
Jehova quam multi is at first glance a motet—basically an anthem in Latin. But Purcell chose an extremely unusual source for his setting of Psalm 3: the psalter from the protestant humanistic Latin bible, translated by Immanuel Tremellius and first published in England in 1580. Tremellius was a Ferrarese Jewish convert to Calvinism, who became Professor of Hebrew and Greek at Cambridge during the reign of Edward VI. Not many musical settings of Tremellius psalms survive, so it’s interesting to find Purcell setting this one a hundred years after the original publication. The setting is striking for its use of two extended solos for tenor and bass, rather than the more typical groups of solo singers. The soloists are Corey Shotwell, tenor, and Daniel Fridley, bass.
Groups of solo singers abound in the anthem “Blow up the trumpet,” setting text from Joel, chapter 2. In fact, some parts of the piece sound like sections of dialogue between groups of singers. It is curious to find Purcell choosing this text about the people being ruled by heathen. It may have been written by the 18-year-old composer in 1677, when the French navy was active and successful, causing alarm in England.
The Latin-texted Beati omnes is an early psalm setting written in verse anthem style with extended solos for bass and soprano. The soloists are Brian MacGilvray, bass, and Elena Mullins, soprano. Vulgate Psalm 127, from which the text is taken, is known especially as the proper psalm for weddings. But since a Latin liturgy was not sanctioned in the English church at the period, the piece is thought to have been written for domestic devotion. However, it has been dated as early as 1677, which is the year the Princess Mary married Prince William of Orange, and since they were married in the small chapel at St. James’s Palace instead of in a larger public ceremony, they might have sneaked a Latin motet into the ceremony. The extended “Alleluia” ending is spectacular.
“Remember not, Lord, our offenses” is one of Purcell’s few full anthems. Scored for five voices, it is a setting of a text from the “Order for the Visitation of the Sick” from the Book of Common Prayer.
“Man that is born of woman” is the first of three parts to Purcell’s Funeral Sentences, a verse anthem for a group of soloists whose final section is echoed by the full choir. The soloists here are Sarah Coffman, soprano, Beverly Simmons, alto, Bryan Munch, tenor, and Daniel Singer, bass. The text includes two verses from the Book of Job (14.1–2), but the collected lines are from the Anglican burial service in the Book of Common Prayer. Written when Purcell was 20 years old or less, it’s an extraordinary work—difficult, emotional, and beautiful.
“In the midst of life” is the second of three parts to Purcell’s Funeral Sentences, a verse anthem for a group of soloists whose final section is echoed by the full choir. The soloists here are Elena Mullins, soprano, Joseph Schlesinger, alto, Nathan Dougherty, tenor, and Nathan Longnecker, bass. The text is from the Anglican burial service in the Book of Common Prayer. Here, Purcell pits a kind of calm resignation against the anguish evident in the rising chromatic passage at “the bitter pains of eternal death.” Written when Purcell was 20 years old or less, it’s an extraordinary work—difficult, emotional, and beautiful.
“Thou knowest Lord” is the third of three parts to Purcell’s Funeral Sentences, a verse anthem for a group of soloists whose final section is echoed by the full choir. The soloists here are Megan Long, soprano, John McElliott, alto, Corey Shotwell, tenor, and Daniel Fridley, bass. The text is from the Anglican burial service in the Book of Common Prayer. Especially notable here is the effective and pathos-laden descent at the words “to fall from thee,” at the end. Written when Purcell was 20 years old or less, it’s an extraordinary work—difficult, emotional, and beautiful.
“O God, thou has cast us out” is also a comparatively early work. It is mostly “full” (for full chorus) in six voice parts, but features a verse section for soloists in the middle. One curious aspect is Purcell’s thoughtful selection of verses from Psalm 60, setting the first two, but then skipping to the 11th and 12th for the conclusion. The setting was written at an uncertain time for the nation, with the death of Charles II and the accession of his brother, James II. Some of that uncertainty, with an expression of hope for better times, seems to be reflected in this anthem.
Miserere mei is a domestic devotional work in Latin. The opening text occurs no fewer than eighteen times in the Book of Psalms, perhaps most famously at the opening of Psalm 51. This setting, however, is a brief prayer. Its 4-voice texture almost completely obscures the fact that it really consists of only two written voice parts, each one in canon an octave below—the tenor following the soprano and the bass the alto. The exquisite dissonances of this work are over too soon—so much so, that we decided to sing it twice.
“Thou knowest Lord” is a setting of the same text that concludes the Funeral Sentences elsewhere on our site. The two are musically so different that it seemed worth hearing this contrasting setting—so simple, and yet so beautiful. It was first performed on March 5, 1695, for the funeral of Queen Mary, and repeated at Purcell’s own funeral in November that year, both in Westminster Abbey.
“O Lord God of hosts” is best described as a full anthem with verse elements: the 8-voice choral texture is interrupted by sections for soli. At the text, “Turn us again,” Purcell changes gears dramatically with a shift to the minor mode, then interrupts the text with a skip to a much later verse of the psalm for the conclusion—a grand, optimistic chorus, again in the major mode.
“Hear my prayer” has long been one of the most beloved works among singers of this repertory. Apparently written for a royal funeral—that of Charles II in 1685—its emotionally charged lines weave through chromatic ambivalence and harmonic disagreement to a stunning and glorious climax. Every singer should get to perform this choral masterpiece at least once. Quire was fortunate to sing “Hear my prayer” under guest conductor, Timothy Brown of Clare College, Cambridge, England, and that performance may be found elsewhere on this site.
“Save me, O God” is a psalm setting from the late 1670s, when Purcell was still in his teens. It uses a trio of low voices and then a trio of high voices, introduced, punctuated, and concluded by the full choir. The opening imitative section is answered by an actual canon for five voices at the end. One curious feature — reminiscent of J. S. Bach’s omission of some of the more inflammatory texts from the St. John Passion — is that Purcell uses the entire Psalm 54, except verse 5, which is perhaps the most belligerent and vengeful. The composer may have wanted to avoid too much distraction from the message of supplication and hope for redemption.
“I was glad” is most often described as a coronation anthem for James II, in 1685, but in fact, it is also a setting of verses from Psalm 122. Surviving only in a late-18th-century manuscript and there ascribed to Purcell’s elder colleague, John Blow, it is the only one of Purcell’s sacred works to have been excluded from the 1963 catalogue of his works. In 1977, however, musicologist Bruce Wood noticed that the description of the music for the 1685 coronation, printed two years after the event, mentioned a setting of Psalm 122, verses 1, and 4–7 with the Gloria patri (exactly as in this work), and described as a “full Anthem” “Compos’d by Mr Hen. Purcel, a Gentleman of the Chapel Royal.” That was sung by the Westminster Abbey choir as the introit at the coronation, and can be none other than this glorious work.
Lindor, Santana / Encarnacion, Kipnis
Gomes, Ramirez, / Bruce, Francona
Chisenhall, Alomar
Cleveland’s heroes you’ll be crown’d.
You make Lake Erie’s shores resound
Kluber, Carrasco / Bauer, Tomlin
Shaw and Allen / Dan Otero,
Clevinger, Salazar,
Miller: Masters of the mound.
You make Lake Erie’s shores resound.
Your exciting baseball,
exciting baseball play.
Oh, if you could win it all:
playoffs, American League, yes, win it all —
World Series — we’d be standing tall.
We’d celebrate,
we’d celebrate the glories of the day
the glories, the glories of the day!
Come all ye baseball fans
Wahoo! Hooray!
To Progressive Field we’ll go
see the Indians play.
Lift all your voices
their labors repay
Let’s celebrate
Let’s celebrate their triumphant day.
Buy me some peanuts,
forever we’ll stay.
Let’s celebrate
Let’s celebrate their triumphant day.
Davy's setting of the Passion is the earliest by a known composer. But it survives incomplete in its unique source: of the 42 short polyphonic movements, the first 11 are missing entirely, and the next 12 survive with only alto and bass parts. The missing and imperfect movements have been reconstructed by Ross W. Duffin. The music for the Evangelist and Jesus are sung using the appropriate Sarum recitation tone for the passion, while Davy's polyphony sets the words of everyone else in the story, including Peter, Judas, Pilate, Pilate's wife, the Pharisees, the rabble, etc.
One unusual feature of our performance is the language of the text. Davy's original work is in Latin, but he was at Magdalen College, Oxford, just a few years before William Tyndale began translating the New Testament from Greek into English while a student there. That connection between composer and translator suggested that the original Latin might justifiably be replaced by Tyndale's vivid translation, a product of the same artistic milieu as Davy's music.
The Passion was immediately followed in our performance by Sheryngam's "Ah, Gentle Jesu."